Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
by Angela Pirate Ryoko
Summary: Meiko and Miwa spend some quality time together during the ski trip episode.


SMOKE GETS IN YOUR EYES  
by Angela  
  
  
The splash of cold air on my face feels good as we step outside the overheated lodge. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, savoring the crisp bite of chill in my lungs. Miwa doesn't talk as we walk toward the small ski cabin I share with Miki. Our conversation had tapered off a while ago, and for the past half hour we've enjoyed each other's silence.  
  
I slide my gaze over his face, which is outlined by stars in the cloudless sky above us. He looks peaceful, happy. I feel a smile tugging at my lips. Quiet and happy is an unusual combination for him.   
  
He turns suddenly, gracing me with his thousand-watt grin.  
  
I don't know if it's the cold or that smile that makes my cheeks feel hot and flushed, but I'm suddenly grateful for the moonless night. I quickly look away--a boy as handsome as Miwa Satoshi would think I was admiring his looks. I fix my gaze on the snow below us, packed tightly from heavy traffic. It bothers me that I'd even noticed his looks.  
  
"Are you okay, Akizuki?" he asks, his voice teasing.  
  
That tone. "Fine," I reply, feeling my eyebrows knit stubbornly together. A small part of me wants to play along with him tonight, to keep that contented look on his face, but I know the danger of giving an inch with this one.  
  
"That's good," he answers quietly. He takes my hand and weaves his fingers around mine. I instinctively try to pull away.  
  
He holds. "Your hands are cold," he protests. "You're not wearing your gloves."  
  
"Neither are you." But his hands are warm. His fingers feel large and comfortable, almost hot against my cold skin. "Let me go," I argue softly, tugging my hand back.  
  
He looks at the sky. "Sometimes I wonder if we don't take two steps back for every step forward, Akizuki." His voice is somber, almost wistful. He tucks his hands into his pockets and looks down at me, his smile gone. "Why won't you let yourself like me?"  
  
I do like him. That's the problem. For as long as I can remember, I've fallen asleep and awakened to just one face, one smile. Lately Miwa's laughing eyes had invaded the space between dreams and waking, and I'm not ready to let him be the first person I think of each morning.   
  
But Namura Shinichi isn't mine anymore, I remind myself reproachfully. Maybe it's time to be nice to Miwa.   
  
Stepping closer to him, I slide my arm through his, letting my fingers curl into the cold nylon of his jacket. It's been a long time since I've taken a man's arm--I'd forgotten how nice it could be to be this close to someone.  
  
He looks at me, startled. I find that it's not hard to smile.  
  
"I'm sorry," I say honestly. "I haven't made this easy for you."  
  
He surprises me. He throws his head back and laughs out loud. "I don't expect you to," he answers without guile. He stops walking, pulling a pair of gloves from his coat pockets. I don't protest as he slides them over my hands. "If you were easy to catch," he says softly, pulling my jacket cuffs over the top of the gloves, "I wouldn't bother chasing."  
  
My heart flutters at his words and gentle tone. His breath lingers in a little cloud of fog before fading into the night. I'm suddenly confused.  
  
"Besides," he cries out unexpectedly, winding an arm around my middle and yanking me near, "won't the reward be that much sweeter when I finally have you?"  
  
"Idiot!" I tear myself away and resist the urge to smack him. That's the trouble with this guy; I let my defenses down for a moment and he thinks it's an invitation to maul me! I hurry the few meters left to the cabin, eager to get inside and close the door so I won't have to look at Miwa Satoshi until morning.  
  
Ignoring his protests, I bound up the steps to the porch, fumbling in my pocket for the key. Miwa's gloves are no help, so I yank one off, flinging it onto the snowy porch boards.  
  
"I'm wounded," he pouts, walking casually toward the porch and scooping up the offending glove.   
  
As I finally retrieve the key from the depths of my coat pocket, Miwa comes up behind me. I'm about to unlock the door when he puts his hands on my shoulders. I tense, unprepared for the spark of excitement that comes from his touch.  
  
"Not yet," he hisses in my ear, motioning toward the window.   
  
Miki and Yuu are lounging on the carpet in front of the fireplace, surrounded by fluffy pillows and laughing happily. As we watch, Miki picks up a pillow and smacks him with it, but rather than retaliate, Yuu holds her still for a kiss.  
  
A lump forms in my throat, watching them. I've never seen such perfect joy in my life. I can't intrude on that. I look up at Miwa helplessly.  
  
Wordlessly, he guides me off the porch and back into the snow. "We'll just have to go to my cabin," he explains as he pushes me toward the steps of another nearby building. "Since Yuu is with Miki, no one will bother us."  
  
I jerk my head around to look at him, but his expression seems innocent. No one will bother us how? I clench my eyes shut and hope that somehow I'll survive the night unscathed.  
  
The cabin is dark and chilly, smelling of pine and citrusy wood polish. Miwa hurries to the fireplace, expertly stacking logs and kindling to start a fire. While he's occupied, I turn on a lamp, casting a yellow glow over the still-dim room.   
  
The cabin is just like the one I share with Miki--decorated simply with a bed on either side and a couch near the fireplace. A thick rug covers the hard wood floor near the hearth and in a far corner is a tiny kitchenette with a sink and an old stove. I walk slowly around the room, letting my fingers trail over the smooth wood moldings and the soft throws tossed over the sofa.  
  
Miwa picks up one of the plaid throws, wrapping it over my shoulders as he takes my coat and hat. "Go ahead and sit down," he urges, motioning to the plushy sofa. "The fire should take hold in just a minute."  
  
I find myself happily trusting him as I browse through some books stacked on the table. He doesn't have that wicked look in his eyes tonight and I decide that I can be nice to him, after all.  
  
As I leaf through a translation of Chinese literature, I wonder which of the occupants could be reading it. Remembering Miwa's gushing response to my own story, I assume it must be Matsuura's. An uncontrollable cough burns my throat, startling me. I choke, looking up in alarm. Smoke billows from the fireplace, rolling away from the chimney and into the room, filling the cabin in a matter of moments with its thick, woodsy scent.  
  
Miwa hurries to open a window, waving his arms to encourage the heavy smoke to leave the room. I almost laugh, looking at the pained expression on his face as he turns back to me.  
  
"I didn't think about the flue," he apologizes sheepishly, running a hand through his hair.  
  
"It's okay," I assure him, not hiding my smile. The air gradually clears, leaving the smallest bit of a smoky haze over the dim cabin. The fire seemed to catch nicely--already healthy flames lick the wood, providing a golden glow from the hearth. "Can I make some hot chocolate?" I ask, glancing at the stove by the sink.  
  
"Ahh," he sighs, sinking into the plushy sofa. "I'd like that."  
  
I start a kettle and find a couple of mugs and some powdered cocoa. "Marshmallows?" I offer, looking at the squishy bag in the cupboard.   
  
"No thanks," he says, fiddling with a radio on the table behind the couch. "I like mine a little bit bitter."  
  
No wonder he pursues me. I blush as I realize how sentimental it is to compare his taste in chocolate with his taste in women. Pouring the hot water into the mugs, I study him, wondering what he's thinking about.  
  
As though he can feel my eyes on his back, Miwa turns to look at me. His eyes are wide and dark; from across the room I can't read his expression, but the intensity of it makes my stomach twist. The scratchy music of a distant radio station winds its way around us, and I forget about the chocolate in my hands.  
  
"Akizuki," he murmurs softly, up in a graceful bound and taking the mugs from me. "The one thing I regret," he continues, setting the chocolate on the counter, "is that we never got a chance to slow dance on Christmas."  
  
That night had been fun, full of loud music and laughter. Dancing close together wouldn't have made sense. But tonight--the sultry American standard flows from the tinny radio and straight into me--tonight could be different.  
  
I don't protest as he pulls me into his arms, not even as he gathers me close against his body. I don't remember how to protest. Or how to breathe. The throw around my shoulders falls, unheeded, to the floor.  
  
"They asked me how I knew my true love was true," his voice is low and husky as he sings the foreign lyrics, leaning his head against mine. "Do you know much English, Akizuki?" he breathes into my ear.  
  
I nod. I know what the song means. It's about falling in love, about getting hurt. It's about that feeling that surges through my chest and burns into me every time I think of him, and more recently, every time I think of Miwa Satoshi.  
  
I wonder what it would be like, if just for one night, to forget about the past and allow myself to react to Miwa. His wool sweater is scratchy and warm beneath my hands; his breath is hot in my hair. I can feel his chest, just centimeters away from mine, sending me those sparks of liquid electricity that I've always ignored.  
  
"Akizuki."   
  
I look up at him, unable to mask everything that I know must be written on my face.   
  
His eyes are luminous, catching the firelight. My breath catches and I'm dizzy with the closeness of his face, his delicious mouth. Licking my lips self-consciously, I remember how sweet his kiss was. My stomach flip-flops as I realize how close I am to kissing him again.  
  
He leans close, touching his forehead to mine. "Meiko," he whispers softly, using my given name for the first time. His breath smells of mint and coffee and a little like that long-ago kiss. I feel woozy and frothy and vibrantly alive all at the same time.  
  
I close my eyes; his eyelashes are making me want to cry.  
  
"When your heart's on fire," he breathes along with the music, "you must realize smoke gets in your eyes."  
  
I barely register my leaning forward, pressing my body against his as I stand on tiptoe to reach him. My mind hardly notices that I'm the one who presses our mouths together, stilling his words as the music continues weakly around us.  
  
His arms tighten around me and my own wind around his neck. His mouth envelopes mine, consuming me with fervor I've never felt--not even with Namura. There's urgency in his hands, in his hips that press lean and hard against mine. My heart thuds painfully in my chest as it becomes clear that I'm just as desperate for this. I clutch his hair in my fingers and press against him almost violently.  
  
I don't know how long we stand like that, kissing and staring and kissing again. His lips caress my mouth, my neck, even my closed eyes, learning the contours of my face while I memorize the firm lines of his back with my hands. Each kiss is more intimate than the last, until I feel like I'd be spinning out of control if not for his strong, bracing arms. He pulls his mouth away and looks down at me, his eyes wondrous and chest heaving. "Akizuki?" he asks, his voice gentle in spite of the things I know he must be feeling.  
  
I know what he's asking and why and I don't care. I look at this boy who has the power to make me forget everything, to make me hungry with longing and rage. He's nothing short of incredible. He wants me. He loves me. And I've made him wait so long while I've wallowed and cried and licked my wounds. Too long. It's time to let go.  
  
I try to tell him but can find only a choking lump where my voice had been. Instead, I run my inexperienced, shaking hands over his chest and up to his shoulders. "Satoshi," I say, the unfamiliar name tripping over my tongue. "Satoshi, I want . . .."  
  
Before I can breathe again I'm swept from my feet, cradled against his solid chest. In a few short moments I'm on the bed--Miwa's bed--as he very carefully tucks a pillow beneath my head. I notice that his hands shake. I take one.  
  
"You're nervous?" I ask him softly, trying to control the tremor in my voice.  
  
He smiles weakly. "Terrified," he confesses, smoothing my hair gently.  
  
I nod. "Me too." For a moment I'm confused at the relief in his eyes. Surely a guy as popular as Miwa Satoshi has been in this position before. I remember countless girls bringing him gifts and writing notes to get his attention.  
  
Sliding into the bed beside me, he kisses me, making me forget about the other girls. I help him pull my sweater over my head, fumble with the buttons on my own blouse as he shucks away his own shirts. The rush of cold air on my skin makes me shiver; I wrap my arms around my middle in an attempt to protect my warmth as well as my modesty. Very gently, Miwa moves my arms to my sides. My nervousness makes me queasy as his eyes take in my nakedness.  
  
"You're beautiful," he breathes before pressing his hot skin against me. I almost gasp at the sensation of melting, of tingly merging as my skin adjusts to his heat, his weight. Our mouths meet and I close my eyes, letting my hands explore the contours of his shoulders. We taste every exposed inch of each other, learning not to tremble as we go.  
  
The urgency returns, and soon it's not enough to kiss and rub and fondle. I want more--more skin to learn, to ease the ache that's been building since that first kiss. I reach for the button of his pants.  
  
Startled by the contact of my fingers, he jumps. He grabs my wrists and holds them away from him, something close to panic in his eyes. "I've never done this before," he explains as his face reddens. He looks at the wall, suddenly disturbed. "It's okay, though," he continues softly. "It doesn't bother me that you--"  
  
"I haven't." My insides lurch at the memory, of that night so similar to this when I threw myself at Namura, practically begging him to make love to me. "Sensei," I stumble over my explanation, blinking back sudden tears, "said it would complicate things." He said that his career was in jeopardy as it was, that a sexual relationship could get us in too much trouble. He said that he loved me enough to wait. But he didn't wait. I clench my eyes shut and try to picture him with Ryoko-sensei, anything to make me angry enough to stop thinking of him.  
  
And then Miwa is holding me, crushing me against him with his powerful arms. "I'm glad," he whispers into my ear. He pulls away, cupping my face in both hands. His eyes are bright and happy, but his face looks serious. "Don't think of him," he urges me in a low voice. "Please," he kisses me quickly. "Be with only me tonight."  
  
I look at the radiant face of this boy who offers me more than the other ever could. I know his feelings--they're written on his every look, every action. Miwa can be mine forever, if I just say the words. He will protect me, make me laugh, love me.  
  
"Only you," I whisper, letting my fingers touch his soft lips. This boy will be true. "I see only you."  
  
We remove the rest of our clothing slowly and I absorb the masculine, smoky scent of him. I'm moved by the intimate way naked bodies tangle, and I realize that after tonight, Miwa Satoshi and I will be indivisible. His body, his face--I let my hands touch and memorize every part of him, trying to imprint on my mind that we would belong to each other.  
  
The actual lovemaking is awkward, with fumbling and apologies and strange maneuvering. Still, as I hold on to him, wondering at the new sensations and spiraling pleasures, it's his face that makes tears gather in my eyes. No amount of reading or education could have prepared me for the emotional onslaught that comes with his quirky smile and constant blush. No one could have told me about the tiny crease of concentration between his eyebrows or the way his hair tickles my forehead when we kiss.  
  
Soon I'm losing myself in his penetrating eyes as balmy sensations wash around me. The initial pain long gone, I wrap my legs around his body and urge him closer. I want Miwa to become a part of me, to merge with me so I'll see myself in his eyes. I want his to be the first name on my lips when I talk with Miki--the only name. I want him to erase Namura, so I won't ever wonder what this could be like with him.  
  
"Meiko," Miwa whispers close to my ear. His voice is hoarse and urgent. "I love you, Meiko!"  
  
I open my mouth to respond but my throat goes dry. My heart hurts in my chest and I'm suddenly very dizzy. I grasp his shoulders more tightly, willing the room to stop spinning. He tenses above me, crying out my name as his body dissolves into shudders.  
  
He gathers me up in an affectionate embrace and nuzzles his head against my shoulder, pulling a heavy blanket over our heated bodies. For a long time neither of us move. My limbs feel clumsy and heavy and my brain is clouded by sleepy confusion. He smells so familiar now, from the scent of his body to the smoke in his hair; I know I'll never forget the smell. I like the way his warm torso leans against mine, the way his long legs and arms wrap around me protectively. I feel safe and unbroken. Just like with--  
  
I banish the intrusion of Namura's memory.  
  
"You're mine now," Miwa murmurs, pressing his lips into my hair. His warmth envelops me, making me woozy with his closeness even as his words make my stomach churn. His mouth finds my ear, his tongue sending teasing shivers through my skin.  
  
"Akizuki Meiko is my girl," he whispers, not even attempting to disguise the joy in his tone. "And I'm going to love her for the rest of my life."  
  
Once again I try to answer, try to form the words that had been so easy with the other. "Miwa," I say instead, nuzzling against his chest affectionately. I care so much for this boy in my arms that it hurts. He makes me ache deep inside myself where everything hurts, but each day, with each new smile, he makes the ache less.  
  
Tears spring into my eyes, burning as they send cleansing rivulets down my cheeks. The song from before unaccountably comes to mind--a line that had somehow been lost among the sweet, new kisses. //So I smile and say, "When a lovely flame dies, smoke gets in your eyes."// I know that something inside me died that evening, but maybe, if I'm uncommonly lucky, Miwa Satoshi will bring another part of me to life. 


End file.
